


The Seven

by NotOCD



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bad Poetry, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Other, Poetry, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 16:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18553903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotOCD/pseuds/NotOCD
Summary: Short Poem, I wrote it based on a challenge to write about the Seven deadly sins without naming them. First time posting any of my work, please let me know what you think!





	The Seven

**Author's Note:**

> Seven. All know each other. They were supposed to meet today, let each other know how their fucked up life is going.

Seven.

The seven of them, gathered close.  
Friends, all well known to each other.  
Sitting in that rooms, all quite different from another.  
One, she’s as skinny as can be.  
Would rather be dead than unpretty.  
Skinny, cold shaking fingers.  
Bloody nose, losing hair,  
Complexion thin, eyes dead, pale, not fair.  
Two. He’s bragging about his latest win, his trophy wife, his whatever.  
Never stops, never quiet.  
“Don’t you ever shut up?”  
“Never.”  
The conversation always turns back to him  
His name should be Rome.  
When it comes to talking about himself,  
He’s never bored.  
Three, the brother of two.  
Younger, always in the background.  
Bitter and silent resentment,  
Wanting what he has.  
Hate, growing stronger everyday.  
With Two running his mouth, he never gets in his say.  
Four and Five, two in one.  
He fears of starving, yet has never missed a meal.  
“You’ve got to slow down your eating and speed up your walk.”  
He tells himself, but it’s just talk.  
He’s growing and slowing, but hides it well.  
“You look a mess.” “I went for a run.”  
Another lie goes out, something else goes in.  
Sitting, sitting, stuck in that chair.  
He barely made it today, to his screwed up support group.  
Seven didn't even make it.  
Holed up in her coop,  
Laying with another man she doesn't know.  
Another night, another cheap bar, looking for someone to tell her she's pretty enough to lay with.  
This screwed up support group, in angst and self hatred.  
Ignoring the root, what is the root? The seven. It started with the seven. Maybe it will be fixed.  
No, those bags are mixed.  
It feels good, but it isn't.  
It might stop, but it hasn't.


End file.
